Faithful
by ShonenAiSorcerer
Summary: Why doesn't Yohji give away free flowers anymore? Shounen ai. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the sap, which I'm considering bottling as bishounen brand syrup (patent pending).

Author's Notes: Subaru-san, my non-hentai muse, seems to be back from "vacation," so here we have a little shounen ai fic for your perusal.

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Faithful

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Yohji Kudou used to give away free flowers.

Smiling, he would gallantly snag a daisy from the cooler and offer it to a blushing schoolgirl. Or, if one of the Koneko's adolescent patrons entered the shop with those familiar tears in her eyes, the ones that spoke of young love revoked, he would brush their nose with a sweet william and promise it would be okay as he pressed it into their hand. And should the recipient be a female aged over eighteen, then it would be a rose, often impulsively snatched from Aya's worktable, and produced with a bow and an invitation.

Yes, Yohji Kudou used to give away a lot of free flowers.

But he doesn't anymore.

The girls have theories as to why.

At first, they think that they might have offended him. Perhaps they've paid too much attention to the others and failed to worship often enough at the sexy shrine that is Yohji's body. But even with extra attention, which he drinks in with smiling eyes and slow, revealing stretches, he doesn't offer flowers.

They continue to investigate. Kamiko, who just celebrated her eighteenth birthday, is sent in as a special operative. She folds the top of her skirt over to bring the hem up by four inches, flouting her pretty legs as she stands by a display of white snowdrops. She tells Yohji how pretty they are, how she would have liked them in the centerpieces instead of the pink roses her mother chose; he nods, but does not offer.

They think, perhaps, it was cutting too deeply into his paycheck. Aya, after all, constantly reminded him the blooms would be deducted from its already meager total. They're partially right, but what they don't know is that Yohji now needs that check. You see, he's not going on missions anymore. Yohji is really a florist.

He finds it trying, sometimes, trying to live on the severely decreased budget, and for a while he worked some side jobs. In the end, it was easier to give up some of the liquor and all of the more serious, and expensive habits he had been flirting with; when it came down to drugs or gas for the Seven, Yohji chose his car. His life was better for it, mostly. Not that he was giving up his cigarettes any time soon.

Perhaps, the girls think, it's Aya's fault. This is the prevailing theory, and it comes with a slight animosity, though they can't sustain any real anger in the face of Aya's beauty. Their few attempts to confront him on the subject end in sighs and, once, an unfortunate case of the giggles.

In truth, they're right about Aya, but they don't understand. They don't see the soft smiles Yohji offers him when the girls are not around, or the subtle softening of violet eyes that often meets these grateful looks. They don't begin to fathom the early morning kisses, slow, reassuring meetings of mouths as the two lean bodies lay close on the tangle of Yohji's expensive cotton sheets. They have never heard, nor can they even imagine, the small, whimpering noises Aya makes as he rocks against Yohji's sweating body, clinging to a man he loves as bright pleasure shatters his conscious world.

This doesn't factor into their theories.

But they've seen, just once since Yohji stopped giving away free flowers, the blonde pluck a bloom from the cooler. They waited in silent anticipation as he studied its purple petals, smoothing one into place with a light brush of his fingertip.

They hoped.

And yet they couldn't quite be disappointed when Yohji took it to the work table, standing casually beside the other man, looking down as Aya worked patiently on a tight arrangement of houstonia and blue hyacinth. It wasn't a big show, and if the arrangement hadn't been almost complete, they might have thought the blonde was just being helpful when he laid the small flower next to Aya's elbow and walked away. But there was something, the girls didn't know what, in Aya's eyes when he lifted the flower from the table. Carefully, he tucked it into the pocket of his green apron, and they thought, though no one was sure, he looked at it several times with something like affection.

It was the same color as Aya's eyes.

The girls knew it was a violet.

They didn't know what it meant.

It was the only free flower Yohji Kudou gave away.

And it was priceless.

~end~

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I think it's obvious, but I get a lot of flames for not making things clear, so here's a bit of a flower dictionary to advance the plot:

violet: faithful love

snowdrop: consolation/hope

houstonia: content

blue hyacinth: constancy

I hope you enjoyed this short little glimpse of Yohji and Aya. Please leave a review for the poor author; to her, it's like getting flowers…only they always mean 'give us more yaoi.'


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